Daro'Faranirr's Adventures with the Dragonborn
by Doodl3
Summary: "How do you feel about doorways?" "I walk through them?" "Perfect! You'll be my new companion."
1. Chapter 1

It was a slow day in Skyrim for a lone Khajiit trader, as well as cold and miserable. Pretty much an average day though, Daro'Faranirr Ranaesi observed. He walked along one of the paths that connected Riften to Whiterun. He'd always hated this trail due to the overpopulation of creatures that wanted to kill him. Trolls, Frostbite Spiders, Spriggans, his luck was so awful on this path he'd once run into a Forsworn. A Forsworn in the Rift. Fortunately, the confused fellow had only wanted directions back to Markarth and in return had given Faranirr a delicious recipe for tea.

Faranirr's ears twitched as he heard the sound of hooves against stone. He was confused, though. This road was not paved. There were some mountains relatively nearby, but that had no paved roads, either. He looked up and saw a looming shadow growing as a body hurtled towards him with a 'Neigh'! Faranirr rolled out of the way as a brown horse crashed into the earth with a sickening 'crack' and a final whinny of pain. Its heavily armored rider was thrown off some distance away.

"By the Nine!" He exclaimed as he ran to the rider's side. The warrior stood up, wiped the blood and dust from their armor, and turned to him.

"So, you recognize Talos as a Divine? How interesting." She said. Her voice was accented with the distinctive Nordic edge of one of Skyrim's native inhabitants. The armor she wore was of Daedric make, hence the confusion over her gender. She carried a bow made of dragon bone, a quiver of ebony arrows, two dragon bone swords, and a daedric dagger that she wore on her hip. Needless to say, she was very well armed. But in her subtle movements he could also hear the familiar 'clink' of gold coins. This was his chance.

He cleared his throat, put on his most charming smile, and said, "Khajiit has wares if you have coin."

"No thanks." She replied, about to walk away.

"Hold on a moment. You're not even slightly interested in what I have for sale?" He asked. "You nearly crushed me with your horse! The least you could do is look."

The warrior stared at him for a long moment before crouching- and disappearing. Faranirr stumbled away from the spot she once stood in, nearly backing into the horse corpse. "Fifty three Giant Toes," her voice said from out of nowhere. She reappeared beside him with a flash of light, holding his coin purse. "and three hundred Blue Mountain Flowers. Your stock is stranger than most traders I happen across."

"That's all the gold I have!" He exclaimed.

The warrior shrugged. "You'll make more."

"No! Give it back, thief!" He exclaimed. He reached for his sword only to discover that it was not only gone, but that he was also now naked.

The warrior once again reappeared, this time turning his sword over in her hand. "Skyforge steel. Impressive, but worthless," she said as she tossed it aside. "What else have you got?"

Daro'Faranirr stared down at his naked body, "I've obviously got nothing, not even the clothes off my back."

"I'll give those back," she said with a little bit of embarrassment. "You're not really an attractive sight."

"First I'm nearly killed by a flying horse, then I am insulted and robbed by a stranger." Faranirr snorted.

"A stranger, huh?" She said, "Maybe it is for the best I remain unrecognized."

As Faranirr prepared to ask her what she meant, a group of bandits ran from the woods. Their leader, a man in steel plate armor, unsheathed his greatsword and shouted, "Charge!"

Faranirr scrambled to grab his sword, but the woman held up an arm to stop him. With a deep breath, she shouted, " _FUS... ROH DAH!"_

This wasn't an ordinary shout, though. This shout echoed with power like Faranirr had never felt before. The sheer force of it uprooted several trees and decimated a path nearly a mile long. That was what happened to the forest behind the bandits. The bandits themselves were nowhere to be found. But four new piles of ash laid where they stood only a few moments ago.

Faranirr stood with his mouth open as he could only behold with muted horror the scene of casual destruction he'd just witnessed.

The woman- the Dragonborn- walked towards the piles, taking small pouches of gold from them before returning to Faranirr. "What is it?" She asked.

"You...you're...I mean… you're the Dragonborn." Faranirr said.

"Do you want a prize or something? How many wanderers do you see wearing Daedric armor?" She asked. She had a point. She tossed him all of his clothes and supplies before kneeling next to her dead horse. "I spent a thousand gold on this thing, too." She muttered.

"How were you even on this side of the mountain? The only path is one on the other side that curves around it." Faranirr said as he pulled on his clothes.

"A true warrior does not always follow the marked path." She said. "At any rate, I will be leaving. With your gold."

If it were anyone else, Faranirr would've put up a fight. But he saw how that worked out for the bandits. "Fine." He growled as he sheathed his sword.

She began walking down the path, taking a left when the road clearly went right. Faranirr held back a smile. The Dragonborn was heading towards one of the largest Frostbite Spider hollows in the Rift. While he had no doubt she would easily kill them all, she would be extremely uncomfortable while doing it and he'd never have to worry about them again.

It was a good deal, even though it was one that came at the cost of his pride.


	2. Chapter 2

Faranirr reached the gates of Riften in only a few short hours. Apart from his chance encounter with the Dragonborn, there'd been no other occurrences to make his journey unpleasant. As he prepared to enter the city, there was a distant beat, like the sound of ceremonial drums.

"What in Oblivion is that?!" One of the guards asked. Faranirr looked over his shoulder and saw a massive creature of pure muscle and power descending from the sky. The horned beast landed atop the stables and let out and earth-shaking roar that scared off the horses- as well as half of the posted guards. It radiated a chill that Faranirr could feel in his bones, and smelled of the ice capped mountains. Its pale blue eyes locked with his and Faranirr felt the desire to empty his bowels.

Instead, Faranirr ducked behind a tree as it let out another roar- this one backed up by a stream of ice that froze the tree he his behind. He rolled away from it and began to sprint away from the city. ' _To Oblivion with Riften!'_ He thought as he leapt over a burial mound. He ran past Spriggans, Sabercats, and spiders until he stopped in a clearing a good distance away from the city.

He doubled over, his sides aching as he struggled to catch his breath. ' _Is it far enough?'_ He thought. He looked around. The smell was gone. So was the beast. He let out a sigh of relief. He had enough supplies to last him a trip to one of the northern towns. If there were no more dragons, he'd be okay.

But then, like a middle finger to his life, Faranirr heard a familiar sound. The beat of ceremonial drums, the heavy breaths, the scent of destruction, blood, and death. He stumbled backwards as not one, but two dragons landed in the clearing. This new one was of a darker coloration and smelled of the embers of a dying fire. It eyed him with hungry yellow eyes as the pair began to circle him, toying with him. Faranirr was desperate, so he did the only thing he was good at.

"Now, I know you… scaly gentlemen would very much like to eat me, but perhaps there is some way we can come to an agreement. You see, I am in possession of some very nice Void Salts, and-" He narrowly avoided one of the beasts snapping at him. He took out his Skyforge Steel sword and his Elven sword, preparing to do the only other thing he was good at.

The ice breather took to the skies with two powerful flaps of its wings while the other ran at Faranirr with a roar. Faranirr ran at him, sliding underneath the beast and preparing to stab upwards at the base of the long throat. He did, but he cried out with surprise as his blade only inflicted a superficial cut. The beast's natural armor was much harder than he'd anticipated. And now he was right under it.

It didn't take long for the dragon to recover. Faranirr avoided its jaws only by the hair on the tip of his tail. When the other dragon saw him come from under its companion's cover, it breathed ice down on him. Faranirr hissed as the frost breath bit into his back. He wished he'd picked up some armor before now- anything would've been better than the clothes he wore. But that was a concern for another time- if he escaped this one.

Faranirr ran at the fire dragon with a shout of his own, using its snout as a base so he could run onto its head. He stabbed down at the base of the head and rolled off a sword short as the beast roared in pain. He knew he couldn't stop. He charged at it again, slashing violently with the one Elven blade. The beast bit him once on the arm he wasn't using. If it wasn't for the fact that its teeth were crooked, he'd likely be an arm short for the remainder of the battle.

With a final slash, Faranirr killed the beast. It rose up with a roar of agony… and fell down on top of him. Faranirr- now under the foul smelling corpse- was fairly certain he'd broken his arm, leg, and back. He was in a fair amount of pain and knew death would claim him soon. ' _It has not been so awful a life.'_ He thought. Sure, there'd been crippling poverty, nights where the only shelter he'd had was the freshly slain body of a cave bear, and the constant racism, but… on second thought, his life had been horrible. ' _At least it will be over soon.'_ he consoled himself. If his death under this dragon did not come of starvation or his injuries, the other would land soon, roll over the body, and devour him faster than a stolen sweet roll. All that remained now was choosing a Divine to offer his final prayers to.

There was a sudden warmth, and a gentle glow. Faranirr smiled and closed his eyes. It seemed his time had come. There was a sound like a peculiar gush of wind… and the warmth was gone. Faranirr opened his eyes to a pile of bones he now laid under. A familiar figure in Daedric armor leaped onto the frost dragon's head and stabbed down. The beast died immediately. The Dragonborn hopped off of its head and stood nearby, waiting for something to happen. Its body began to dissolve into curling bits of flame. Strands of light raced towards her body, infusing her with a aura of colors that exuded warmth.

When the lights vanished, she made her way towards Faranirr, giving him a slow once over before determining he was alive, though barely. "So you killed a dragon. First time?" She asked.

Faranirr could only give a small shriek of discomfort as his answer.

"Thought so. This is going to sting a little." She said as she sheathed her weapons. She leaned over his body and snapped his arm back into place. Faranirr shouted once and the Dragonborn looked at him. "Quit your whining. No one likes a crybaby."

So, Faranirr was forced to bite down on the edge of his tunic while she set bones back. The process was agony. When she was done, she removed a Master Healing Potion from her bag and held up his head so he could drink it without choking.

Faranirr's wounds closed and a buzzing numbness, not unlike being drunk, spread throughout him. He felt giddy and alert as he drained the last bits of the potion.

"Thank you," he rasped.

"How are you with doorways?" She asked suddenly.

Faranirr looked at her suspiciously, "I walk through them?"

"Perfect. Let's go." The dragonborn hauled him up with an amazing amount of strength and patted his shoulders. "You're my new companion," she said with an air of certainty.

"No?" Faranirr wanted nothing more than to not travel with the most dangerous person in Skyrim. He had enough trouble on his own.

"I'm the Dragonborn, do you really want to say no to me?"

"Yes!" He said.

She sighed, "Is this about gold?"

Faranirr thought back to the 'crippling poverty' aspect of his life and said, "Khajiit has wares if you have coin."

"What?"

"Khajiit has wares if you have the coin." He said again, far more slowly. He wondered if the dragonborn had taken one too many bandit blades to the helmet.

"No, don't do this."

"Khajiit has wares if you have coin," he said.

"This is the most annoying thing about you khajiits." She sighed, "What have you got?"

"Fifty three Giant's Toes." He said.

"Why is that all you've ever got?"

"I work very hard to fight giants so that I may cut off their toes. Now that may not mean much to you, but to a traveling merchant like myself-" He began to say.

She cut him off, "What in Talos' name is your level?"

"My… level?" He asked.

"Yes. Your level." She said again. "Every warrior has a level they gauge themselves with. What is yours?" She asked.

"I am not sure what you me-" She headbutted him. There was a 'crack' and Faraniir saw the stars, the constellations, and a number. 59. He stumbled away from her and said with a slurred voice, "Fifty nine?"

The Dragonborn nodded. "You're far stronger than the usual traveler, probably from all of the giant slaying. I've need of a companion to share adventures and loot with- and to understand how a door works." She muttered the second part under her breath. "What say you, cat? Will you join me?" She asked as she held out a hand.

Faranirr could see no way out of this, short of forcing the Dragonborn to dislike him. So, he decided, that was what he would do. "Very well." He said as he shook her hand with a smile.

"Good. Here's some better gear so you won't be totally useless." She said as she handed him new armor and weapons. "We're heading to Winterhold, so I hope your business in Riften wasn't important."

He thought of the hundreds of fishermen who would now lose their jobs because he failed to deliver the important documents from the Jarl in time. He took the notes out and ripped them to shreds. "No. Not important in the least," he said.

"Let's head off before it gets too dark," she ordered.

Faranirr followed her, quickly saying, "Would you mind if I practiced some… experimental poetry whilst we travel? I'm hoping to gain entry into the Bard's College soon."

"Oh gods." She whispered.

"Mountain flowers are blue. As well as pink. I'm a khajiit and I'm not very good at poetry… I think," he said. When the Dragonborn said nothing, he continued. "Roses are red, Daedra are black, I lost all of my land, loved ones, and friends in a dragon attack and I'm honestly struggling so please support me or I'll be forced to ask Nazeem- that arrogant prick in Whiterun- for a loan-"

"By the Divines, shut up." She groaned. "I'll cut off your tongue and use it in a potion." Needless to say, the trip was very quiet from that point onward.


	3. Chapter 3

The pair arrived in Winterhold around two weeks later. Faranirr was shielded from the storm by a cloak of ice bear fur he wore over his armor. He'd offered to make the Dragonborn one but she staunchly refused, saying something about her 'warrior's code'. Faranirr smiled a little as he heard her shiver again, thinking of how little a 'warrior's code' did to keep one warm. It was also reassuring to know that the Dragonborn was not above being cold or headstrong. She was a normal, stubborn woman. One Faranirr was now forced to travel with.

It was nightfall by the time they arrived. The only way Faranirr could tell the place wasn't deserted was by the wandering yellow glow of the guard's torches. "This is Winterhold, eh?" She said. "Underwhelming," She concluded.

"You cannot blame them. Winterhold has not been the same since the Great Collapse." Farnirr said. The Dragonborn was uninterested in a history lesson, though.

"Is there an inn around here?" She asked suddenly.

"Yes. There's one over that way." Faranirr said, pointing towards the inn. He'd never seen a person in such heavy armor run so quickly.

Suddenly, a man in rags stopped the two of them. "So you call yourself a wizard, eh?"

"No one said that," Faranirr replied.

But the man only looked at the Dragonborn, "I challenge you to a duel."

The Dragonborn just nodded and the two were off, the old man spewing ice from his palms. ' _So this is magic,'_ Faranirr thought. He honestly thought it would be more awe inspiring. Seeing a man shoot ice crystals from his palms was impressive, but it wasn't like the blizzard of annihilation the stories he'd heard about magic made it out to be.

He expected his companion to use some form of wizardry as well, but instead she pulled out her Daedric dagger. She charged for him, despite the ice that slowed her down. She was as fast as a whip and twice as deadly as she plunged the dagger into the old man's throat. The old wizard didn't stand a chance. Blood gushing from his throat, he doubled over dead.

The Dragonborn wiped her blade off in the palm of her gloved hand and proceeded into the inn. Faranirr stared at the dead body. He knew the ways of Skyrim. People died everyday. But to see the Dragonborn do it so carelessly- as though she were swiping away a fly- he had to wonder if she really was the savior the songs made her out to be.

When he came into the Inn, he noted she was already handing over some gold to the innkeeper.

She turned to him."We have separate rooms. Dagur, the innkeep, will show you to yours. You are not to disturb me or seek me out for the next two days. Are we clear?" She asked.

"Understood." Faranirr answered.

He went to his room, looking over his shoulder at the Dragonborn one more time before she closed and locked the door to hers. "Your friend paid for three days. The bed's clean and if you need any food, just call me." Dagur said. Faranirr gave a short nod as thanks and closed the door to his room as well. He was looking forward to a hot bath, fresh food, and sleep without the threat of a rabid wolf deciding his legs resembled rabbits.

At the end of two days, Faranirr had neither seen the Dragonborn leave her room, nor anyone enter it. Despite her warning, his curiosity got the better of him. What was she hiding? Had she even eaten? He figured it wouldn't hurt anything if he brought her some food. After purchasing some charred skeever from Dagur, he crouched next to her room door and picked the lock. It was ridiculously easy to do. So much so he was positive she hadn't heard a thing.

He came into the room and heard a solid 'THUNK' in the wood next to his ear. His gaze slowly moved to the steel dagger that was now firmly embedded in the doorway beside him. The Dragonborn was in the bed. She had the blankets pulled half over her and snored softly. The two things that disturbed Faranirr most, though, were the facts that one, she was still in her Daedric armor, and two, her right arm was up and tensed with a second steel dagger between her fingers- the ready position to throw it.

Faranirr held his breath as he slowly backed out of the room, closing the door behind him. Perhaps hunting would prove to be a safer pursuit.

Picking up the Ebony Bow the Dragonborn had gifted him with, Faranirr scaled the tall cliffs to the cracked ice over the Sea of Ghosts. He wrapped the ice bear cloak tighter around himself as the storm picked up. To better hunt his prey in these conditions, he blinked a few times, his vision adjusting to the snow as though it were the nighttime. Things became clear enough that he could see a few wolves in the distance. Wolf pelts would make for a fine cloak and a good sell.

Readying an arrow, he took slow breaths. He would have to take the wind into account. And if any of the beasts move before his shot hit. He slowed his breathing even further, clearing his mind until the wind's howl was a distant thought. As he released, he felt as though he watched the arrow soar in slow motion as it landed in the side of the head of his target ice wolf. It fell to the ground, dead after the first shot. Its two companions looked around now for the source of their companion's death. Faranirr readied another arrow to take down a second wolf.

He felt the wind knocked out of him as something large barreled into him with a snarl. The ice wolf now on top of him tried to bite Faranirr's throat but instead got a mouthful of ice bear cloak. He needed to kill the beast before the others found him, which at this rate wouldn't be long. He grabbed the steel dagger at his belt and plunged it into the wolf's throat in a very fluid motion. He rolled the beast off of him and became acutely aware of the other wolves that now circled him. He hissed in response to their snarls and took out a sword.

He was ready to stab one in the throat as it lunged at him. What he was not prepared for was the Daedric arrow that pierced its skull mid-leap. The other wolf took its attention off of him for only a second, and another arrow buried itself in the beast's throat. Faranirr looked around, but saw nothing- at least, not immediately. He noticed a black dot descending from the town moving quickly towards him. The Dragonborn had a Daedric bow out and another arrow notched.

"Get down!" She shouted. Faranirr ducked as she shot an arrow at a frost troll that had appeared. It stumbled backwards with a roar. Faranirr grabbed his sword and stabbed. He'd put enough force into it that the troll was dead shortly after the first impact. The Dragonborn kneeled beside one of the wolves' corpses and pulled out an arrow.

"I thought you were still in your room." Faranirr said, careful to leave out that he'd broken into it. She scoffed and pulled out another arrow.

"I couldn't sleep after all the ruckus you made breaking in. I thought I told you to stay out."

"You hadn't eaten. I was worried."

"And then you go and nearly get killed. Honestly, you're as bad as Lydia." She said.

Faranirr wanted to ask who Lydia was, but was more concerned with something else. "How did you make that shot? From that height, it would've been impossible." He said.

She shrugged, saying, "It wasn't so difficult."

"Were you trained as an archer?" He asked.

"If you mean was I showed by someone what the right end of an arrow was, then yes. My father when I was just a little girl. We traveled often when we weren't in Darkwater Crossing." She sounded like she wanted to say more but shook her head. "If you run off into danger again, I might not be around to save you- and the last thing I need is another follower who I have to watch over like a newborn. So knock it off." She ordered.

"As you wish." He said. It occurred to him only now that he didn't know anything about the Dragonborn. She never talked about herself or her past, only what laid ahead. Or maybe it was that Faranirr never bothered to ask. Either way, his companion was an enigma he doubted he'd crack anytime soon.

"If you're done almost being wolf dinner, I was thinking we would go to the College today." The Dragonborn said.

"Why?" Faranirr asked. "What is at the College for one such as yourself?"

"Why not? There are adventures to be had and Colleges to be conquered." She replied. Faranirr noted his companion seemed primarily concerned with 'adventure' and not 'personal safety'.

"Colleges are not like an abandoned hold. They are not necessarily meant to be conquered." Faranirr tried to explain.

The Dragonborn didn't seem to care. "I have to handle some business at the Inn. Take care of what you need to and we'll head out." She said before trudging off into the storm. Faranirr smiled again as he heard her teeth clatter.


	4. Chapter 4

Faranirr bit down on the thread, his naturally sharp teeth rendering this task easy. The Dragonborn was still in the Inn and had taken over an hour to do her business. He took advantage of this time to make another cloak out of the Ice wolf pelts. With this cloak, he'd cut some holes over the top of the hood for the Dragonborn's horned helmet. He'd also been careful to design the garment so that it wouldn't catch on any of the spikes that adorned her armor- giving it a tattered, worn look. He nodded with approval, noting that some leather would truly bind it all together, though the cloak was serviceable as it was. The door to the Inn opened and a familiar pair of heavy boots thudded across the wooden porch.

Faranirr leapt down from the roof to her side and ducked under her arm as she almost punched him. "I made you a cloak." He said as he offered it to her.

She sounded like she was ready to give him a stern talking to about sneaking up on her, but merely took the cloak with a muttered, "Thanks."

"The College isn't far from here." He said as she put it on.

"I can see the tall gray spires, Khajiit." She said. Faranirr helped her adjust it so that it fit over her armor perfectly.

"My name is Daro'Faranirr Ranaesi. Not 'Cat' or 'Khajiit'." He said.

"I don't care." She said as he adjusted the hood over her helmet.

"Would you like it much if I called you 'Nord' or 'Dragonborn'?" He asked.

"I assume you already do as much." She said. Well, she wasn't wrong. The Dragonborn turned on her heel to go to the College and Faranirr followed.

A High Elf waited on the bridge with her arms crossed and a firm frown on her face. Faranirr could feel the air around her become heavier as the pair approached. "Cross the bridge at your own peril. The way is dangerous and the gate will not open. You shall not gain entry." She said.

"May we enter?" The Dragonborn asked. The Elf thought it over for a moment before answering.

"Perhaps. But what is it you hope to gain upon entry?" She asked.

"I just want to see what it looks like on the inside." The Dragonborn replied. She sounded serious but Faranirr couldn't tell. The Elf cracked a smile and the air felt lighter.

"Humor. Intriguing. I can feel you seek more, though. And at that point, it's a question of you can offer the College. You see, we only allow in mages that show a degree of proficiency in magic. If you could demonstrate that to me, I'd be more than happy to allow you in."

"Can one of us take this test for the pair of us?" The Dragonborn asked.

"I suppose so." The Elf replied. Faranirr let out a mental sigh of relief. The Dragonborn would surely take care of this.

"Faranirr, you're up." She said.

"What?!" He exclaimed.

"Perform the nice woman's test and let's get going." She said.

He pulled her aside and whispered, "I can't do any magic!"

"Then you'd better bluff like there's no tomorrow. Without that test, we don't get in." She said. Faranirr knew better than to press it any farther.

He cleared his throat, straightened his armor, and put on his most winning smirk. He walked back up to the Elf and, lowering his voice to a deep purr, said, "We both know I'll pass this." She silently stared at him. Faranirr began to sweat, had it not worked? Was he actually going to have to attempt magic?! He almost wished he was still pinned under a dragon.

"I suppose you would. Follow me." She finally said.

Faranirr had to resist the urge to break out into song. He looked back at the Dragonborn with a grin. She quickly pushed past him with a sigh. ' _She's just jealous.'_ He thought as he followed.

Faranirr and the Dragonborn entered the main room of the college in the middle of an old man rambling about practicing the safe use of magic. Faranirr was distracted by the vast halls and intricate architecture. He wondered how much time and gold had been poured into crafting such a place. He also wondered where the kitchen was.

"You've been quiet so far, what do you think we should do?" The old man now spoke to the Dragonborn and Faranirr. He noticed that all of the mages wore outfits that were not unlike the dresses tavern wenches wore, though significantly less… appealing. They eyed the warrior and her Khajiit companion with bated breath.

"I think we should learn something practical." She finally said, although she sounded rather bored- as though she wasn't really paying attention to anything the old man was saying.

"Is that so?" He said. Something in his tone set Faranirr's fur on edge, as though something very bad was going to happen very soon. "Are you at all familiar with ward spells?" He asked.

"I'm not, but my companion is." She gestured to Faranirr with her hand, "I'm sure he'd be glad to help."

Faranirr laughed loudly, uncomfortably, before coughing, "Not-ahem, choke- any-hack- good- cough, cough- with _magic_ -hack- I feel like there's something going around. Perhaps I should go see a healer." He said.

"I'm certain you'll be perfectly fine. Please, move to that space and construct a ward to block my spell." The old man said.

He looked to the Dragonborn, his eyes wide, screaming a silent 'Help!' She raised her hands in a half-hearted gesture of helplessness. Faranirr moved to the spot the old man had designated and waited. "Now I'm going to cast a spell, and I want you to block it." He said. Faranirr gave a weak nod as he waited for the spell. A fireball of considerable size flew from the old man's extended palms and hit Faranirr in the chest. The wind was knocked out of him as he flew backwards into a pillar, leaving a web of cracks on it.

"You didn't block it with the ward like I requested. Get up and we'll try it again." The old man said.

' _Sweet mother of Talos if another one of those hits me, I'm through.'_ He thought. What could he do, though? He couldn't bribe the old man to not shoot it again. Maybe he could persuade him. He'd read a story once about an older, powerful wizard who taught at a school for mages who had a thing for men. Maybe this was not so different? Anything would be better at this point than getting turned into charred Khajiit. Faranirr got to his feet, removing his Dragonscale breastplate and helmet. He ran his hands through his hair, letting down the parts he'd tied back into a ponytail so that it spread over his broad shoulders like a mane.

He felt horribly embarrassed and like the entire act was overkill, but it was either a semi-strip show or being subjected to another fireball. The three other students- and the old man- stared at him with impossible intensity, their jaws were unhinged with shock.

The moment of stunned silence was interrupted by a snort. The Dragonborn shook with control for a split second before erupting into laughter. It was so intense, she fell backwards on the floor, holding her sides.

Faranirr- who before had only felt moderately embarrassed- was now as close to blushing as a creature covered in fur could get. He quickly gathered up his things and went back to his companion's side as the old man cleared his throat. "Well, I do believe that is enough on the demonstration of… erm… Stoneflesh-"

"Sir, I thought it was a ward?" The Nord male said.

"I know what I was teaching, young man!" He snapped.

Faranirr helped the Dragonborn to her feet while she tried to stop laughing. While he leaned close to her, she whispered, "Well done."


	5. Chapter 5

"I do not know how you talked me into this." Faranirr said as he swiped away some of the spiderwebs that hung from the damp walls of the crypt. The Dragonborn walked ahead of him wielding a torch and a drawn Daedric dagger. She moved cautiously, like she mistrusted each crack on the walls or each skitter that came from another corner of the room.

"I didn't. You agreed to be my companion and that was the end of it." She said.

"Do you even know where we're going? I swear we've passed that candle three times already." Faranirr said.

"I know what I'm doing!" The Dragonborn exclaimed as she took out her map and held it sideways. Faranirr scoffed, it seemed like she was just wandering around and hoping for the best. It occurred to him this was how the Dragonborn typically went about her daily life. She had no particular purpose or goal in mind, and whatever wandered across her path- that was interesting enough to pursue- she pursued with reckless abandon. Faranirr wondered what sort of life she must've had prior to this moment to have twisted her so. He didn't realize until she stopped and he crashed into her that she'd been asking him something.

"Sweet Moon Sugar, at least give me some warning before you become a wall!" Faranirr exclaimed as he rubbed his now sore chest. While he'd been thrown backwards, the Dargonborn remained standing, staring down at him as he got to his feet.

"As I was saying, do you see that?" She asked, rolling the map to point to a necklace perched appealingly on a stone wall. It was almost impossible to miss.

"Of course I see it."

"Go get it." She ordered.

"What? Are you insane?! That is obviously a trap!"

"Or it's just a necklace sitting in a convenient area with candle light positioned on it accidentally." The Dragonborn said.

"If it were any more of a trap, it would need a sign and Mikael the Bard singing about it." Faranirr said.

The Dragonborn tilted her head in a way that indicated her eyes were rolling underneath the malevolent helmet. "Of course I know it's a trap, but between the two of us, you're far less important."

Faranirr could feel his mouth drop open but summon no response to the heavily armored warrior. Instead he walked towards the amulet, muttering a series of curses at the Dragonborn that would make even the most hardened Nord warrior blush. He moodily grabbed the necklace from its pedestal and glared at the trap door that fell behind him, trapping him in the small hall. The Dragonborn snorted as she tapped the iron bars. "What do you know? It was definitely a trap." She said. The old man- who Faranirr had learned was called Tolfdir- ran towards the closed door with a look of genuine panic in his eyes.

"Oh dear, it seems you've gotten yourself trapped. See if that amulet can help you." He said before running away to find another path to Faranirr, muttering something about safety. The Dragonborn crossed her arms and took a deep breath. "FIEM ZII GRON." She shouted. Instead of decimating the door like Faranirr expected the shout to, the Dragonborn simply turned a shade of light blue and became transparent. She passed through the bars with ease and materialized a few short seconds later. Faranirr pinched the bridge of his nose as he struggled not to shout. "Why did you not come in here, take the amulet, and escape that way instead of trapping us both here?" He asked.

The Dragonborn looked at him, then the door, then back at Faranirr. "You know, that's actually a pretty good idea." She said.

Faranirr gave a hiss in agitation as the Dragonborn pushed passed him towards an area where the wall was cracked. "We should go this way." He noted that the wall was glittering with a magical energy, but said nothing as the Dragonborn placed a hand on it. "Feels like it'll give way with enough force." She grunted. He watched as she pulled a fist back and punched it with enough force to send a powerful 'boom' through the small space, but not to crack the wall. She dropped her fist from it, cradling it as though she was hurt.

"No good. Any ideas?" She asked Faranirr. He frowned at ther and crossed his arms haughtily. "What?" She asked.

"Tell me I matter." He said. The Dragonborn scoffed.

"Is this some sort of game for you, cat?"

"No. Tell me I matter- and mean it- and I will tell you how to break this wall." He said.

"This is ridiculous!" She said, throwing her hands up.

Faranirr sat on the ground, taking out a steel dagger and a piece of wood to whittle a bear figurine. "What is ridiculous is that I have been traveling with you for the last three weeks, made you a cloak, and you still do not consider me of value to you. Tell me I mean something to you!" He said, pointing the knife at the Dragonborn.

"What if I just forced you to tell me?" The Dragonborn asked as she drew close to him, her voice taking on a very dangerous edge.

Faranirr shrugged. "I do not fear death, Dragonborn." He said. She scoffed and moved away from him. This was far from the truth- Faranirr had a liking for living that he liked to maintain- but for the sake of convincing the Dragonborn, he would have to stand his ground.

She sighed and faced him. "Faranirr," She began, she sounded as though she was forcing the words through clenched teeth, but Faranirr looked up at her.

"Yes, Dragonborn?" He asked.

"I think you matter to me even when it does not seem like it. I appreciate all you do and would appreciate you more if you told me how to get through this wall." She said. Faranirr leapt to his feet- pocketing the unfinished figurine and the dagger. "The wall glows with magical energy. Only by being attacked by some form of similar magical energy will it shatter."

The Dragonborn tapped her helmet thoughtfully as she considered Faranirr and the wall once again. "Give me the amulet." She ordered. Faranirr passed her the amulet and watched as she wrapped it around her fist. It glowed as she clenched it and pulled back. When the Dragonborn punched the wall again, it shattered under her fist. The Dragonborn took the necklace off of her fist and passed it back to Faranirr as she looked in the newly formed hole.

"We should get moving." She said.

"You know there will be a problem you can't punch your way out of one day, right?" Faranirr asked.

"Today is not that day." The Dragonborn said somewhat proudly as she took out a torch and proceeded into the dark hole. Faranirr followed with a sigh.


	6. Chapter 6

"I hope Sithis himself swallows you in the Void!" Faranirr screamed at the Thalmor over the Eye of Magnus humming with magical energy. The Thalmor Elf launched another lightning bolt at him- missing when the nimble Khajiit rolled out of the way, ending up next to the Dragonborn. "And why aren't you attacking her?!" He asked as he barely dodged another bolt.

"I keep telling you, you just have one of those faces," The Dragonborn muttered.

"What kind of face do you mean?! I am a vicious Khajiit warrior! My closest relative is a Sabercat! What is it about my face?!" Faranirr exclaimed.

"You just aren't intimidating. Your face has this really… floofy quality to it. Very punchable." The Dragonborn replied.

"Oh, so because I choose to try and regularly bathe, I look easily rob-able? I look like a lightweight?" A bolt of energy hit Faranirr, sending him spinning head over heels into the wall. He gave a small wheeze as he slid down and collapsed into an armored pile on the floor. The Dragonborn moved to his side, picking him up and shoving a potion down his throat.

"Does that answer your question?" She asked as she let him lean on her while the potion took effect. The Dragonborn moved swiftly, despite the fact that in addition to all of her weapons and heavy armor she was handling another creature. When Faranirr could stand on his own, she pushed him aside to avoid a fireball that would've incinerated them both. Drawing a blade, she ran forward, trying to attack him but gaining no ground- the glowing Thalmor was practically invincible.

"The staff's the only way to render him vulnerable." Faranirr coughed. The Dragonborn nodded with understanding as she took it out.

"I'll shut down the Eye, you kill that Thalmor bastard." She said. Faranirr nodded with and pulled out the two dragonbone swords the Dragonborn had forged for him. The Dragonborn used the staff and the Thalmor agent was uncovered. Raising his swords to a battle stance he exclaimed, "Prepare to feel the wrath of Cuddles and Juipurr!"

He was nearly hit with another bolt of magic.

"Stop shouting the names of your blades and kill him!" The Dragonborn ordered. Faranirr, feeling more than a little irritated, ran forward and began to attack the Thalmor agent. He swung with light hits, inflicting a little damage over the drawn out period of the battle. The Dragonborn intervened at random intervals, attacking a few times before focusing on the Eye again. Eventually, Faranirr felt a tidal wave of rage overpower him as he stepped in close to the Thalmor, impaling him with both swords and a snarl as time itself seemed to slow.

The Thalmor's face was a mask of surprise as Faranirr stepped back, drawing his swords from the body before turning with a rapid movement and slicing his head off. As the overpowering aura of magic lessened in the room, Farnirr sheathed his swords, breathing hard with a fierce grin on his face.

The air was knocked out of him as the Dragonborn slapped his back. "Well done, Faranirr." She said, sounding genuinely impressed for once.

Before Faranirr could properly wheeze a response, she passed him the staff, crossing her arms as the mage from the Psijic Order appeared. The mage looked from the headless Thalmor to Faranirr with shock written clearly on his normally composed features. "Did… did you truly slay him?" He asked Faranirr.

"Yes." Faranirr said proudly as he held the staff upside down. The Dragonborn buried her helmet into her palm while the mage looked at her and asked, "And you didn't stop the Thalmor?" He asked.

"I just helped." The Dragonborn said.

"Are you sure?" He moved close to the Dragonborn. "No one likes a liar."

"Is it so hard to believe I slew the rampaging Thalmor?" Faranirr asked, his ears beginning to flatten with offense.

"No, no, no," The Dragonborn assured with a light chuckle. She pulled the Psijic Mage close and quietly snarled, "Apologize quickly or he'll be insufferable."

"Wha-" The mage began.

"Apologize to him Mage, and you'd better make him feel important or so help me Talos, I will murder him on the road and find you." She hissed.

"Well- what do you want me to do?!" The Mage squeaked.

"I don't know, but for your sake you'd better do it quickly." The Dragonborn replied as she pushed him away.

The Psijic mage straightened his robes and quickly turned to Faranirr with a smile that would've split his face in two if it were any wider. "We knew you would succeed, and your victory here more than justifies our belief in you. You have… erm… proven yourself worthy to lead the College of Winterhold."

"Really?" Faranirr asked. The mage, realizing what had slipped from his mouth looked to the Dragonborn, who slowly crossed her arms and nodded.

"Of course! We...um… have all the faith in you!" Faranirr's ears perked up with delight as the Psijic mage concluded his business and took the Eye with him. The Dragonborn gave a sigh of relief. "Are you ready to go?" She asked Faranirr.

"I can't try on my robes? See my new living space? Give an announcement to the bright minds I now lead?" He asked with barely contained excitement.

It was then that the Dragonborn realized Faranirr- the traveling Kajiit merchant who regularly attacked Giants simply for their toes, the whiny cat who could do no magic- was now the leader of a college of magically talented beings.

"Talos, help me." She muttered as Faranirr ran off to go try on the oversized mage robes.

Some Time Later…

Faranirr looked around as he walked, his tail flicking with the wonder his wide eyes didn't already betray. The Dragonborn stopped and asked, "Did you get into some student's secret stash of skooma?" She paused and asked with slightly more concern, "DId you get into _my_ secret stash of skooma?" The Dragonborn was not a skooma addict herself, but she often picked the bottles up by habit when she was in skooma dens. Which was alarmingly often. Faranirr stopped and caught a butterfly, releasing it to properly answer the Dragonborn.

"No, it's just… does the land not seem different to you? More… developed? Sharper?"

"What are you talking about?" The Dragonborn asked.

"Everything seems sharper. It's as though the world has been Enhanced… made special in some fashion."

"Divines, you did get into the skooma and _now_ I'm going to have to take you to Danica and explain to her why you were within a thousand feet of any skooma!" The Dragonborn growled as she pulled Faranirr towards the general direction of Whiterun.


	7. Chapter 7

It was a cool morning when the Dragonborn and Faranirr crested over the rock and Forsworn-infested hills to see the high stone walls of Markarth. Faranirr was out of breath-even though his dragon scale armor was considered light, it was still head to toe armor in addition to everything the Dragonborn saw fit to horde. And that was everything that wasn't nailed down.

The Dragonborn stopped to look over her shoulder at the wheezing Faranirr and wait for him. "You're rather slow today," She commented, a note of disdain creeping into her voice.

"If you did not shoulder me with so much of this _garbage,_ " Faranirr grunted as he tossed down his pack.

"Watch your tongue, Ranaesi. What I choose to take and leave are my business. Besides, aren't you… I don't know, 'Sworn to carry my burdens'?"

"You are thinking of a housecarl."

"Perhaps. You're more of a house cat, no?" The Dragonborn asked.

"Mockery is hardly becoming of someone who is able to kill a man just by screaming at them," Faranirr grunted as he rolled his shoulders. "Anyway, what do you even need this dwarven bowl for?" Faranirr asked as he pulled a dented bowl from his pack.

The Dragonborn snatched it from him, polishing it with the pad of her armored glove as she replied, "It will fetch a good price when we sell it."

"Ah. And I assume you feel the same about the ninety-seven cheese wheels you've saddled me with as well," Faranirr said as he crossed his arms.

"What if we run into a dragon? We will need them for healing then," The Dragonborn argued.

"You could arm-wrestle three dragons without needing so much as a healing potion!" Faranirr said.

"I did not say they were for me. You're higher maintenance than you like to give yourself credit for being." The Dragonborn said.

"You know, Dragonborn, I am beginning to think you have a hoarding problem."

"So I like shiny things and cheese wheels. That is hardly a problem-" The Dragonborn began. Faranirr picked up his pack, wordlessly turning it upside down to dump the collection of hammers, swords, greatswords, shields, staves, daggers, armor pieces, and sensitive Daedric artifacts he'd been forced to carry through the last five holds. And he hadn't even bothered to open the pocket where she made him keep the food.

The Dragonborn looked down at the pile, up at him, and back down wordlessly. "Well, that doesn't prove-" Faranirr opened the pocket containing the food, never breaking eye contact as the piles of apples, cheese wheels, pies, slabs of cooked meat, and sweet rolls clattered out on top of the previous pile loudly. When it was empty, he dropped the pack and spread his arms out in what could have been interpreted as a 'fight me on this' gesture.

The Dragonborn picked up an apple, polishing it against her front plate nonchalantly. "I see no problem here, except that you are lacking the physical ability to carry my spoils and not whine about it."

"Does that helmet blind you to the fact that we are carrying more food than most Jarls keep in their holds?!" Faranirr asked, recalling briefly that they'd also looted a Jarl's table in a mad rush once.

The Dragonborn shrugged and said, "I see nothing wrong here."

"I know you have the soul of a dragon and love to create little hordes of 'treasure', but this is going too far! We either sell or drop some of this off or I will start giving it to beggars!"

The Dragonborn gasped with something akin to genuine horror. "You wouldn't dare," She growled as she pointed a finger at Faranirr.

"I will! I do not know what you have against giving to the poor, but I will!"

The Dragonborn sighed. "Fine, Faranirr, we will drop some things off at my house in Riften."

"We are almost at Markarth! Why not sell it there?" Faranirr asked.

"I would hate to have you part with all of this after you spent so long talking about it. Pick it up. We have to set out for Riften immediately if we're to get there in a week or so."

"You are truly an evil creature," Faranirr growled.

"What's that you say? You want to use the long roads? If you insist, Faranirr."

"I hate you," He grunted as he picked up the pack.

"Of course we'll be able to investigate a Dwarven ruin or _three_ on the way there!" The Dragonborn said so sweetly it was sickening.

"I want to die," Faranirr groaned as he followed the Dragonborn's sprinting pace.

"The day's still young! Who knows what will happen?" She said. Citizens of Markarth later reported that they could hear the sound of violent sobbing in the hills long after the strangely armored pair had vanished.

By the time Faranirr and the Dragonborn had made it to Riften's gates, the Khajiit felt tears of joy in his eyes. He had never felt so exhausted or hungry in the entirety of his life. A life that was nearly ended several times as the Dragonborn had made good on her word. Four Dwarven ruins, an uncountable number of bandit encampments and Falmer infested caverns, but sweet, sweet release now hovered just in the horizon. "Oh, we're almost there," The Dragonborn sounded slightly disappointed.

Faranirr all but sprinted to the front gates, kissing the guardsmen's masks when they were within arms reach of the overwhelmed Khajiit. The Dragonborn paid them not to arrest him for assault and disturbing the peace. When they were within the walls of the hold, Faranirr's first destination was to the Pawned Prawn, but the Dragonborn stopped him with a sharp tug on his tail.

"I thought you said we were going to sell some of this junk!" Faranirr exclaimed in a voice of desperation.

"I said no such thing. Merely that we'd drop off some of my loot at my house."

Faranirr's anger was pushed aside by confusion. "When did you get a house in Riften?"

"I had it before we met. I'm a Thane of the Rift," The Dragonborn explained casually.

"What else do I not know about you?!" He asked.

"Besides being a Thane of Riften and leader of the Thieves Guild?"

"You're the leader of the-" The Dragonborn covered his mouth swiftly.

"Just because I own most of the guards in this hold, doesn't mean you should go around announcing my titles," She chastised Faranirr, her voice holding some amusement.

"How do I know none of this?!"

"Maybe if you stopped complaining for twenty minutes and actually pulled your head out of your rear, you could ask questions."

"But you never talk about yourself!"

"Especially not to complainers," The Dragonborn said as she went to her house. Faranirr was surprised to find it was fully furnished with piles of gold, dragon bones, and scales all sorted nicely where they didn't fit, the work of a housecarl, no doubt. The Dragonborn sat down on one of her chairs and stretched out with a book on Restoration magic while Faranirr set to sorting through all of the junk that had burdened him.

"Why are you reading that book?" He asked while he worked.

"I thought a little Restoration magic could be useful when you get hurt."

"You care about me that much?"

"No. I just don't need you to guzzle my healing potions any more than you already do," The Dragonborn replied. "It would also finally put this to use," She said as she shuffled under her armor to pull out an Amulet of Mara.

Faranirr tilted his head at the Dragonborn and asked, "Do you know what that means?"

"A boost to my Restoration magic. It was a rather lucky find off some dead bandit's body."

"I mean-" Faranirr stopped, remembering the weeks it'd taken to get to Riften and the pain he'd endured. "It works better when you have it out for all to see," He finally said.

"Why?" The Dragonborn asked.

"I don't know exactly how magic works, or amulets, but I've read that the amulet you wear functions better when visible."

"So you believe everything you read? In that case, The Lusty Argonian Maid must be true," The Dragonborn's voice dripped with sarcasm.

"You've read The Lusty Argonian Maid?" Faranirr asked.

There were several beats of silence between the two of them before the Dragonborn let the amulet fall, exposed, over her chest and put the book up to her face once more. "We will not speak of this again," She quietly said.

"My lips are sealed," Faranirr promised with a smirk.


	8. Chapter 8

The Dragonborn had agreed to let Faranirr take some time to relax in Riften-her only condition being that he not ask where she went when an angry looking woman who often haunted the Bee and Barb quietly spoke to her. On this particular occasion, they were both at the Bee and Barb, two cups of Black Briar Mead in front of them while they discussed the Dragonborn's aversion to giving to the poor. Poor children especially.

"I always buy all of the flowers from that little girl in Windhelm," She said.

"Why not adopt her so you can properly care for her?"

The Dragonborn held up three fingers as she replied, "Three reasons. The first is that I could not be the parent she deserves."

She lowered one finger and continued, "Two is that there is no guarantee I would live through any of my adventures, leaving my child to become like the Arentino boy at best."

She lowered her fingers to her last one and said, "Finally, I _give_ these children money. Do you know what they do with it? Stay poor. When I escaped from Helgen I was broke and luckless. Look at me now. I had no hand outs. Do you see me in poverty?"

"They are children with no concept of how to handle gold!" Faranirr exclaimed.

"But they know how to spot a citizen who will provide them with a home, food, and a bed for nothing? Free loading little imps," She muttered the last part as she pulled her cup of mead closer to her.

"I cannot believe you would describe children in such a way! You were a child once! I hope!" He said.

"I was, and by their age I had three jobs, in addition to being a hunter for my family," The Dragonborn said.

"Wait-" Before Faranirr could demand an explanation, a mage named Marcurio-who the Dragonborn had paid once to travel with her- sidled up to the bar, his eye catching on the amulet that dangled over her armor. "Is that an Amulet of Mara? I'm surprised someone like you isn't spoken for."

"What?" The Dragonborn asked.

"I've never told you this, but you're quite fetching when you desire to be," Marcurio said with a wink.

"Is something wrong with your eye, Marcurio?" The Dragonborn asked.

"Nothing, save that you've caught it."

"Are you...your eye...what?" The Dragonborn's voice was one of confusion mixed with a clear fluster of emotion.

"Marry me, and together we'll-" Marcurio's request didn't get very far when the Dragonborn's fist slammed across his face. He twisted on his heel twice before collapsing on a table, starting a bar fight that Faranirr was quick to drag the Dragonborn away from before they had another Markarth Massacre. When they were safely back at her home, Faranirr locked the door behind him and asked, "Why did you do that?!"

"Marcurio was acting strangely. He clearly needed some sense knocked back into him."

"He was _flirting_ with you!" Faranirr hissed.

"What?"

"Flirting! You know, when a person shows they are interested in you by making romantic innuendoes and complimenting you!"

The Dragonborn crossed her arms as she said, "Faranirr, just say what you mean."

"Have you never been flirted with?" Faranirr asked.

"What is this 'flirting' thing? Is it code for something else?" The Dragonborn asked.

"No, no, it is not code. It is how people show they are romantically interested in you."

"What is that?"

"Romance?" Faranirr asked. "It is...it is being around someone you enjoy being around. It is feeling butterflies in your chest,"

"That sounds incredibly uncomfortable."

"And sharing moments that strengthen your bond and trust in one another."

"So...what we do normally?"

"Yes-no! It is a different kind of interest entirely!" Faranirr huffed.

"How is it different from being normally interested in me?"

"How can I phrase this so you will understand? It is being willing to die for someone if only to ensure their safety."

"Like me and you," The Dragonborn said.

Faranirr scoffed, "I do many things for you, Dragonborn, dying is not on that list. Hm. Maybe I am approaching this the wrong way. They want to hug and kiss you?"

"Like a family member?"

"No! Dragonborn! Like...hm. Like The Lusty Argonian Maid," Faranirr said.

"Oh? Oh! Oh," The Dragonborn said as understanding sunk in.

"When someone flirts with you, that is part of what they want. They don't expect you to punch them!" Faranirr said.

"I cannot help it. When I am faced with something I don't understand I punch it."

"You do not understand basic attraction?" Faranirr asked.

"Well...show me how it works. Maybe because it came from Marcurio it seemed odd to me."

"And you think I would be any better?" Faranirr asked with a scoff.

"I'm more or less used to you," She said.

"You want me to teach you about...flirting?" Faranirr asked.

"Is there something strange about that?"

"No. Yes. I-" Faranirr sighed. "Very well. I will assist you." He rolled his shoulders back and removed his helmet to brush a hand through his messy hair. "Alright, Dragonborn, pretend we are in a bar."

"Couldn't we just go back to the Bee and Barb?"

"A barfight is hardly the appropriate atmosphere for romance!" Faranirr said.

"So...a regular bar is any better?"

Faranirr opened his mouth, a protest ready, when he stopped to think the Dragonborn might have a point. He shrugged and said, "You're not likely to flirt with someone in a temple of the Divines."

"What about Dibella's temple?"

"Dragonborn. A bar. Picture it, the air heavy with smoke from a dock worker's pipe, the occasional outburst of laughter from a group playing a drinking game in the corner. You are at the bar, alone, when," Faranirr smoothly slid to her side with a ready smile.

"Hello there, beautiful. I haven't seen your face around the bar before," Faranirr purred.

"You've never seen my face, Faranirr," The Dragonborn said.

"A fair point for another discussion. I am trying to flirt with you. Just...exchange playful banter with me."

"Okay. You...erm...you look like you could handle yourself in a fight?"

"My dear, I can handle so much more than myself. For example, you," Faranirr said with a toothy smile. He saw constellations flash across his vision as the Dragonborn's fist crashed against his cheek. He was pleasantly surprised to find he'd leveled up quite a bit traveling with the Dragonborn. But that was beside the point. He rubbed his jaw and stood up straight asking, "Why did you do that?!"

"I told you I punch what I don't understand!"

"You cannot punch someone simply because they are interested in you! Especially not if you are interested in return! You'll just scare them off!" Faranirr said.

"You mean I have to be interested in them?"

"Yes! Mutual attraction!"

"Oh. I don't like people very much," The Dragonborn replied with a shrug.

"That much is obvious from the general disregard you have for their lives."

"Well, perhaps we can just give up on the whole thing and move on," The Dragonborn said as she began to put the amulet back under her armor.

"No! Attraction is a part of life. You should learn it," Faranirr said.

"Disease is a part of life, but you do not see me running around letting every wolf I see give me love nibbles," The Dragonborn argued. Before Faranirr could pose another argument, there were three solid knocks at the front door. The Dragonborn drew one of her swords and opened it. The woman with the permanent scowl-Faranirr believed she was called Sapphire- stood there.

"Delvin wants to have a word," She said, passing a glare at Faranirr.

"Very well. I'll be there," She said.

Sapphire nodded and waited outside.

"I have to go," The Dragonborn said, grabbing a pack full of gear that Faranirr had often seen in the house but never fully explored the contents of. She walked out, leaving Faranirr to stew. He would make her experience attraction-even if he had to force it.

"You want me to...what?" Mjoll the Lioness was not a woman easily confused. She preferred to live her life as honestly and simplistically as she could. So when a Khajiit claiming to be a companion of the Dragonborn asked that she flirt with the legendary warrior, she was more than a little perplexed by the request. Her warpaint crinkled with her brow as she considered the request.

"All you have to do is flirt with her. She seems to like the 'beefy warrior' type, and you could probably take a punch," Faranirr said.

"You want me to flirt...with another woman?"

"Is there a problem with that?" Faranirr asked.

"No, a warrior is a warrior. But I wouldn't want to do anything that would make her uncomfortable and end up with me dead."

The Dragonborn had never really stated her preference and always had a nonplussed air regardless of what gender she was dealing with. There was a strong possibility that he risked embarrassment and in the worst case would be kicked out of the Dragonborn's company. But Faranirr had never been one to stand in the way of happiness. And if this worked out, he reasoned, the Dragonborn might loosen up.

"It will be fine. Just...attract her the way you would normally attract a person."

"I don't know…"

"Money is not an object," Faranirr said blandly.

"As you wish, cat. I will spend time with the Dragonborn."

"Perfect. And you are not to tell her about our little arrangement."

"I'll be perfectly discreet," The blonde warrior promised. "How will I talk to her?"

"I will subtly suggest that she go to the Bee and Barb."

"Are you certain you need to do that? She is there pretty often anyway, no?"

"Mjoll, concern yourself with your part, and I will concern myself with mine," Faranirr assured her. He swore to be the vision of understated suggestion. He walked into the Dragonborn's house to find her bent over a ledger with a quill at the ready. There were several burnt out candles near her hand, indicating she'd been at this for a while. Faranirr made his move.

"Go to the Bee and Barb," Faranirr said, climbing onto her desk and sitting on her ledger, his long tail knocking over the inkwell as he settled. The Dragonborn leaned back in her seat, pinching the bridge of her helmet.

"Well, there goes a night of work. What do you want, cat?" She asked.

"Go to the Bee and Barb," Faranirr repeated.

"Why?"

"Do you need a reason to get drunk and make merry?" Faranirr asked.

"We both know that is not what I do."

"And what a lovely day it is to try something new!"

"The last time I tried something new on your advice, I punched Marcurio. But I could use a break. Will you be coming along?"

"No thank you. I thought I would try my luck at the Bunkhouse again."

"You know Haelga doesn't like you, right?"

"You didn't like me at first, either," Farinirr said.

"I still don't like you."

"You wound me. Go to the Bee and Barb, and I will prepare some experimental verse for when you return that will make you adore me."

The Dragonborn considered him for a long moment, then looked around the room. She sighed,"I never liked this place much, anyway."

With the Dragonborn out of the way and his plans falling into place, Faranirr was feeling rather confident. He considered following up on his interest to go see Haelga, but a different urge crossed his mind. He looked at the ledger, noting the different changes the Dragonborn had made. Faranirr picked up on what she'd been attempting to accomplish rather quickly, and refilled the inkwell to finish what she'd started.


	9. Chapter 9

"Oh, Faranirr," A husky voice murmured. Faranirr stood on top of a pile of dragon corpses, a blood drenched blade in one hand, his other wrapped around the waist of a scantily dressed and attractive female wood elf. "You saved my village from Alduin's Army. How can I ever...repay you?" She asked, planting a kiss on his jaw.

"Well, I would first like to see your library," Faranirr said. A loud slam on a hard wooden surface snapped the Khajiit out of his dream. The Dragonborn's armor was scorched, dented, and covered in a black fluid, giving it an even more nightmarish appearance. She'd dropped a broken dagger in front of his face, the blade still crackled with electricity. The Dragonborn fell back into a chair with a hiss, followed by a sigh of relief.

"What happened?!" Faranirr asked as he scrambled to his feet.

"Nothing much. I finally met Mjoll."

"What do you mean, finally?" Faranirr asked.

"The Thieves Guild has had their eyes on her and Aerin for some time. Her heart's in the right place, but she isn't a threat to us. In fact, I was avoiding her because of my leadership."

"She did all of that to you?!" Faranirr asked.

"No," The Dragonborn grunted. "She talked to me at the bar and the subject of her old blade Grimsever came up. Mzinchaleft wasn't really out of my way, so I let you sleep while I went to get it myself."

"You never should have gone without me! You got hurt! You could have died!"

"And what would you have done about it?" The Dragonborn asked, a hard edge to her voice.

"I could have watched your back. That is my job, no?"

The Dragonborn pondered it before continuing, "Anyway, I found her blade and will return it to her tomorrow." She took out the sword to turn it over in her hands. It looked like a run of the mill glass sword, but it needed polishing and sharpening from years of disuse.

"This is...peculiar behavior for you," Faranirr noted. "You do not typically go out of your way to help strangers. At least, not without the promise of some reward."

"Mjoll isn't a stranger, and this hardly for the sake of being nice. Now, I have to go bang out the dents in my armor. One of those damned spiders snuck up on me." With that, the Dragonborn went to her room and slammed the door behind her. Faranirr sprang to his feet to go talk to Mjoll. The warrior was on the docks, joined by Aerin-as always. The man stepped in front of her protectively, and Faranirr had to stifle a scoff. Out of the three people there, Aerin was the least qualified to protect anyone or stop Faranirr from getting what he wanted. He wondered if this was what the Dragonborn felt all the time.

Mjoll put a hand on his arm and suggested he go to the market stalls while Faranirr and her had a discussion. When the nasally voiced man had left, Faranirr's agitation had reached a tipping point. "The Dragonborn is not your errand girl to send dungeon diving like some demented miner!"

"What are you talking about, cat?"

"You sent her into a Dwarven Ruin to retrieve the blade you dropped!"

Mjoll looked shocked, and her tone of voice communicated as much when she said, "She… found Grimsever?"

"You are missing the point! I-"

Mjoll's surprise was quickly replaced by rage. "I ordered her to do nothing! She did it of her own will."

"You are far too dangerous for her to court if you request such extravagant gifts! Our deal is off."

"The Dragonborn is a grown woman! She can do whatever she wishes for whomever she pleases!"

"Absolutely, just not you! You straw haired serpent!"

"You scab infested son of a Skeever!"

"You scarred back end of a diseased Mammoth!"

"You know what? Forget the gold, I'll seduce her for free! And get farther than your pathetic milk drinking hide could ever hope to get with her!" Mjoll taunted, a fierce smile on her face.

Faranirr made several noises of discontent shock before turning on his heel to go back to the Dragonborn's house. "Of all the mindless barbarians whose help I could have enlisted, I choose the one who decides to be an even greater meathead! I will show her, though. I will not allow this to stand!"

"Faranirr, are you talking to yourself again?" The Dragonborn called from her bedroom.

"I absolutely am! The nerve of some people!" Faranirr shouted back.

"If this is about your theory that Brynjolf is some sort of master thief, you're still not right," She said.

"What would you do if someone was annoying you?" Faranirr asked.

"Kill them," the Dragonborn replied without hesitation.

"You can't kill them!"

"You can kill anyone if you're determined enough. Except for that skeever brained boot licker Nazir," He barely detected her muttering some half-hearted question about his apparent invincibility.

"Well, let's say you can't kill this person. What do you do then?"

"Humiliate them. Beat them at their own game. Put buckets over their head, steal their clothes and gold, take all of the food in their house, slip poison into their pockets."

"You can't kill them!"

"Poison doesn't kill. Immediately. In small doses," The Dragonborn replied. Faranirr turned the thought over in his head. He could try to beat Mjoll at her own game. He shook his head with new determination. He wouldn't try, he would beat the hag in their little game. And Faranirr was never one to do things by half-measures. The Dragonborn emerged from her room, dressed in repaired and shined Daedric armor. She was polishing the clawed fingers of her gloves with a tattered rag when she asked, "So why do you ask?"

"Erm...no reason. I will be busy tonight and tomorrow," Faranirr said.

"Oh? Very well. Try not to get yourself killed without me," The Dragonborn said.

"I wouldn't dream of it. Before I go, though, I will cook you a few items for dinner and breakfast."

"You don't need to do that," The Dragonborn said.

"I must. The food here is disgusting. For dinner you'll have...Elsweyr Fondue and Roasted Venison, and...a Juniper Berry pie."

"You seem angry."

"I am not angry, Dragonborn, merely looking out for your well being," He added under his breath, "In any form that seems to take."

"Very well. I mean it, though, Faranirr. Don't do anything extreme. I don't want to end up in jail again."

"Of course I won't," Faranirr answered confidently.

Faranirr sat at the back of the Temple of Mara, his eyes narrowed at the Dragonborn, who spoke with a bald man in black leather armor. He wasn't paying attention to what they were saying. He was watching for gestures that would indicate if she was angry or bored, like crossing her arms, or shifting so that she faced the exit. So far, things had been calm and quiet. A good sign that she would be in a decent mood.

Faranirr wore a dress and a cloak with slits over his ears. He'd removed the pair of silver earrings he usually wore, and had changed his warpaint. His tail twitched under the fabric, uncomfortably restrained. He had decided that to best Mjoll, he'd have to win the Dragonborn's affections first. And that meant he couldn't be Faranirr-the roguishly handsome former trader. He would have to be Faranirr, the roguishly handsome woman. He thought back to how he'd ended up to this point.

 _"I want you to make me a woman!" Faranirr said to Keerava._

 _"Talk to the face sculptor."_

 _"She does not do that. And even if she did, I do not want this to be permanent."_

 _"We are not even the same species," Keerava replied._

 _"I will pay you."_

 _"Done." Faranirr began to think everyone in Riften had a price tag._

The Dragonborn stood up, nodding once at the man before she began to leave. Faranirr ducked his head until her heard the shift of her armor as she passed. The temple doors opened and closed, and he knew he was free to do as he needed. He stood up, quick to move to follow her. When he got outside, he saw her speaking to Mjoll, who'd been leaning against one of the wooden supports of the nearby houses waiting patiently for the Dragonborn to come out of the temple. She was giving her a damnably cute crooked smile that Faranirr knew would be difficult to trump.

His heart soared when the Dragonborn gave her a few quick nods and walked away, leaving Mjoll looking somewhat confused. Faranirr quickly moved past her and followed the Dragonborn to the market stands. She'd stopped in front of Grelka's stand-though she didn't need anything, Faranirr knew she just enjoyed talking to the surly woman. She left some gold in exchange for a few lockpicks and went to go buy some fish from one of the women who worked at the fishery.

Faranirr suppressed a hoot of joy. The Dragonborn was hopeless when it came to food, and the way into her good graces was often through her apparently bottomless stomach. Faranirr sidled up to her while she was busy examining a Salmon and a River Betty.

"If I may make a suggestion," Faranirr began, his voice at a lower, raspier pitch than usual to match the typical female Khajiit.

"I would rather you not," The Dragonborn snipped. Faranirr forgot how rude she was to everyone who wasn't familiar. Well, how much more rude she was.

"Very well, I-This one merely thought you would enjoy the Silverside Perch more. It has a fantastic flavor and is very versatile as far as a cooking ingredient goes!"

The Dragonborn pondered this and quickly exchanged gold for a bag of Silverside Perches. She walked away, bag over her shoulder, without even so much as a 'thanks'. Faranirr wanted to growl-she really was not good with people. He followed her to another stand, where she looked at jewelry. He wanted to ponder how strange that was-the Dragonborn was not one for wearing jewelry, after all- but shrugged the thought off to continue his plan.

"My name is Fara-" Faranirr stopped himself from saying the rest of his name and decided that would have to do. The Dragonborn didn't respond. "Yeees, Fara Rana'Daro. Are you, perhaps, the Dragonborn?"

"No," The Dragonborn said. The tone of the single word was so flat and certain, Faranirr was almost convinced of the lie.

"Well, if you are at the Bee and Barb sometime, just mention my name and I will be honored to cook for you!" Faranirr chirped. The Dragonborn bought a small box and walked away, going back to her home. When the door slammed behind her, Faranirr snapped in his regular voice, "That heartless dragon!" He threw down his hood with a hiss. He had no idea how Mjoll had captured her attention so quickly. He saw that he would need the aid of a master of seduction in order to do this properly.

"And so, that is why I need your assistance," Faranirr finished. Maven Black-Briar regarded him with a stony silence and a face stuck in a permanent frown. She might not have seemed like much now, but Maven had multiple children, a result Faranirr knew couldn't be reached without some degree of charm and tact. If anyone could help him, Maven Black-Briar could.

"In the time you wasted blathering to me about your problems, I could have had you killed four times over."

"But will you help me?"

"You have some nerve asking me for help after what I just said. I don't know whether to lock you in a dungeon, feed you to wolves, or actually consider your request."

"So you will help me!"

"Absolutely not."

"Maybe we can be of some use to each other," Faranirr said, his merchant sense kicking in. At this, Maven scoffed.

"What could you possibly offer me? I have the whole of Riften under my thumb and then some."

"I am the Archmage at the College of Winterhold. I know you have someone to fence your goods there, but just think of how much you stand to make by selling legally. You could officially supply the college, and all of its inhabitants, with no need to go through some dead end bar or a fence who doesn't know how to keep a secret," Faranirr said.

"Winterhold? As if I would ever be interested in that backwater dead end. You're going to have to offer up more than that if you want my help," Maven said.

"Don't think of it as a 'backwater dead end'. Look at it as an investment. Conflict between the Stormcloaks and Imperials is growing more tense with each day. They will scramble to hold and occupy even the most meaningless of territories if it means they get an upperhand. And when one side or the other comes to occupy Winterhold, you can guarantee there will be thirsty soldiers. Not only that, but I have the ability to extend protection to anyone you send to me. Think for a moment about the destructive capability you gain by having a group of knowledgeable wizards at your fingertips," Faranirr's speech grew heated when he saw the growing greed in Maven's eyes as the prospect. He let the silence settle between them as Maven considered it.

"Give me a day to ponder things and talk to a few contacts," Maven said, rising from her seat like a Divine. Faranirr watched her leave to her room upstairs, and he took it as his cue to go home to see how the Dragonborn was doing.

"Twisted bastard son of a charred Skeever and a lame Slaughterfish!" The Dragonborn cursed. Faranirr found her in the kitchen, a great axe drawn as she buried it into what looked like the failed remains of burnt dough. Her armor was covered in flour, including the apron and the chef's hat that sat crookedly on one of her horns.

Faranirr crossed the room, making sure to stay out of swiping distance before asking, "Having trouble with something?"

The Dragonborn, instead of jumping or reacting with fear as most would when pleasantly surprised, instead slammed her fist against a cutting board, shattering it into tiny, depressing pieces. She growled as she swiped it on the floor and sat down. Leaning against one of the counters as she sighed,"I was...trying to make a cake."

"A...cake?"

"Yes. You may mock me at your own peril," She warned.

"Dragonborn, I would not mock you for trying something you don't know how to do," Faranirr said gently as he adjusted the hat on her helmet. "Breaking my favorite cutting board is another matter entirely, though," He leaned back and looked at her. "Tell you what, I will make you a cake. What flavor would you prefer?"

"No, I was not making a cake for me!" The Dragonborn said.

"Was it for Mjoll, then?" Faranirr asked, a note of disdain creeping into his voice.

"Wha-no. Why would I bake Mjoll a cake?" The Dragonborn asked.

"No reason! Why were you baking a cake, though?"

"For your birthday," The Dragonborn replied. Faranirr could see the 'cake' had a few fish in it. He wrinkled his nose out of sight of the Dragonborn at the thought of fish cake and offered a hand to help her to her feet. She stood up on her own, wordlessly crossing her arms. Faranirr asked, "Why don't I help you make the cake, hm?"

"You cook all the time. This is supposed to be the one day you don't have to," The Dragonborn growled.

"The intent is heartwarming, but I enjoy cooking. It is not a bother to me to assist you. And anyway, I would rather have a cake that is edible," Faranirr said.

The Dragonborn scoffed before she agreed. "Very well. What first?"

"Flour, eggs, sugar, and possibly milk," Faranirr listed off the ingredients by memory. The Dragonborn silently moved to go get the items. As they worked to make a fresh cake, Faranirr said, "This is...odd."

"What?"

"You. Being nice to me."

"Would you rather I call you names?" The Dragonborn asked.

"No. But I don't know what called for the change in attitude."

The Dragonborn mulled it over for a moment. "Being nice on special days...friends and family do that for one another, no?" She asked.

"That is typical behavior," Faranirr confirmed.

"I never knew such a thing. Not until I started to travel on my own. And even then, I never felt the desire to be nice to anyone just because a day held some pointless meaning."

"Why?"

"Everyone has the potential to die at any moment. I learned it is easy not to grow attached and to expect as much. When it happened, it wasn't a surprise. But you have proven...resilient. And useful, despite how annoying you and your experimental verse can be."

"So you are being nice to me because I have been useful and difficult to kill?" Faranirr asked.

"Basically, yes," The Dragonborn confirmed.

Faranirr's face twitched as his eyes watered. His ears flattened over his head, his nose sniffling. "That is the nicest thing you've ever said to me!" Faranirr moved to hug her, but the Dragonborn's hand went to the hilt of the Great Axe.

"Do not push your luck, Ranaesi, 'difficult' does not mean 'impossible'," She threatened, back to normal behavior, though it was hard to take the Daedric armored warrior seriously when her chef's hat was crooked on her horn again. Faranirr ended up making two cakes from different kinds of berries-the Dragonborn somehow wolfing down most of it without ever removing her helmet.

When she'd had her fill, she slid a small box towards Faranirr. He recognized it as the box she'd picked up from Madesi's, but didn't say as much. "What is this?"

"A new horse," The Dragonborn replied. "Open it."

Faranirr opened the box to reveal a pair of polished hoop ebony earrings with small carvings in them that glowed faintly orange. When he touched them, they felt smooth and warm against him. The Dragonborn explained, "Your old earrings are looking a bit...charred from our dragon encounters. These are fire resistant, made of sturdier material." He noticed that they matched his fur and his eyes.

Faranirr gently dragged a claw over the runes as he took in the gift. He smiled at the Dragonborn and said, "Thank you, Dragonborn."

"You're welcome. I'm leaving," She said suddenly.

"Where are we going?" Faranirr asked.

"Not 'we'. Just me. I'm heading to give Mjoll back her sword."

"Very well, have fun!" Faranirr encouraged. When the Dragonborn left, he sprinted to his room to put on his dress.

Faranirr watched Mjoll in the marketplace. She was leaned against one of the stalls, and looked as calm and cool as any self-assured warrior would. It enraged Faranirr to no end. He stayed at the market stall that used to belong to a Dark Elf that he was told was arrested for stealing a necklace. Or something like that. In front of him were all kinds of goods he'd bought from Keerava and some he'd even made himself to potentially attract the Dragonborn's attention. Eventually the Daedric armor wearing warrior walked to the marketplace with a cloth wrapped package that could only be Mjoll's sword.

Mjoll saw the Dragonborn and smiled at her, saying something like, "What can I do for you?" Faranirr silently mocked her, and quickly stopped when the melons he'd shoved down the front of his dress and bound to himself via chest bindings began to shift to an unnatural angle.

The Dragonborn, as ever, was straight to the point. "I found Grimsever," She said, holding out the wrapped blade.

Mjoll looked just as shocked as when Faranirr had told her the news, and gingerly unwrapped it to reveal the glistening, sharpened blade. She gave a quiet gasp and told her, "Thank you."

Then, the unthinkable happened. Mjoll gave the Dragonborn a hug. Faranirr could've squealed with delight. She'd impaled people with their own weapons for less, and Faranirr knew how opposed to touching she was. But his heart dropped into his stomach when, after a moment, she wrapped an arm around her and returned the hug. It was enough to make Faranirr see red. With a roar not unlike that of a Senche-rhat, he lept over the counter of the stall and charged Mjoll, tackling her out of the arm of the Dragonborn and onto the ground.

He stopped himself from digging his claws into his face when he said to himself, "Wait, I cannot hit a woman!" He saw the constellations and an increase in Light Armor when Mjoll punched him in the face hard enough to throw him off of her. He rubbed his cheek and growled, "But then again, you are no woman!" To be fair, neither was he.

Mjoll gave a battle cry and drew Grimsever while Faranirr brought his fists up, claws glinting in the rare sunlight that bathed Riften. He ran at her, or tried to. His efforts were impeded by a sudden, familiar shout that bathed the world in blue. Faranirr was suddenly moving at a snail's pace, though it wasn't what he wanted to move at. He saw the Dragonborn move Mjoll out of the way, and physically pick up three guards to surround Faranirr. He could've screamed with frustration. He hadn't done anything wrong! He just wanted to rip off that smug Nord woman's face. Or at the very least, give her scar a symmetrical twin.

Time resumed and he ended up punching one of the guards the Dragonborn had put directly in front of him. He wanted to cry as several swords shot up to his throat and a manly woman's voice said, "By order of the Jarl, stop right there!"

Faranirr couldn't bribe them. He'd left all of his gold near his armor, so he only had two options. Fight his way out or endure the torture of prison for a month for attacking a guard. He gave a heavy sigh and said, "Take me to prison."

"Smart ma-er...woman?" The guard said as she escorted Faranirr to the jail. Faranirr found himself in the dank, moldy jail cell with his cheek against the palm of his hand as he sat on his cot. Every second he wasted in the cell was one that Mjoll could've used to be getting closer to the Dragonborn, to replacing him as her companion, to holding her hand and reciting experimental verse, and-"Wait, what was that middle one?" He asked himself.

Before he could question the list any further, one of the guards opened his cell, and in front of it stood Maven Blackbriar. She sniffed at him and said, "I've decided to take pity on you and help you achieve your goals."

"Truly?!" Faranirr said as he jumped to his feet.

"I have three rules. Don't touch me, don't look me directly in the eye, and do exactly as I say."

"Of course," He said.

"We've much work to do and very little time to do it considering your actions in the town square. And keep the dress. We may need it later," She said, walking ahead of Faranirr out of the prison.

"What? I have to keep wearing this thing?" Faranirr asked.

"Apart from the muscles you make a rather convincing woman for how much you whine."

"I do not understand how you and the Dragonborn are not friends. You are both rude beyond belief."

"I have no time for niceties with fools and pawns. You and the Dragonborn fall into both of those categories."

"What is the first step so that I may be done with this association as soon as possible?" Farnirr asked.

"Stop talking. Your chances with the Dragonborn will increase exponentially if you speak less."

"I am a merchant! My silver tongue is how I make money! It is how I live!"

"I will give you that relationships are a business agreement but you don't strike me as a very effective businessman."

"How dare you, madam! I could sell water to a blind man and call it paint!" Faranirr exclaimed. This was shortly before he nearly tripped over the bottom of his dress for the sixth time that day.

"Then I suppose you don't need me to help you."

"That is not true! I need your help, Maven," He said.

"Then you will cease to break rule number three." Faranirr shut up and followed her back to the Bee and Barb. She sat down at a table with Faranirr and ordered them both plates of food and bottles of Black Briar Mead. Faranirr wasn't one for drinking, and he certainly didn't drink the watered down swill that was Black Briar Mead, but since his position as the Dragonborn's companion was on the line, he decided to hold his tongue about it.

Maven said, "So you wish to seduce the Dragonborn. What does he like?"

"She," Faranirr corrected.

"Pardon me?"

"The Dragonborn is a woman."

"Really? I had no idea. Well, that lessens my confusion significantly. What does she like?"

"Well, she likes Elswyer Fondue, and Juniper Berry pies, and-" Faranirr paused when Maven slapped him in the face with a loaf of bread.

"Wrong. From this moment forward, you are what she likes. She just doesn't realize it yet, like a fine wine she has yet to sample."

"But the Dragonborn doesn't like people-" He was slapped by the loaf of bread again.

"I will say this once more. You are what she likes. And if anything else comes out of your mouth apart from that I will have Keravva hold you down while Maul slaps you with a severed skeever head."

"I am what she likes."

"Good boy. Now, keep telling yourself that. Women like a confident man and you reek of weakness."

"How can that be? I bathed this morning-" He was slapped with the loaf of bread again. "I am what she likes."

"Now, you've travelled with her for some time and have likely destroyed any chance of making a good first impression. Not good, but I've salvaged worse situations. I've arranged things with Delvin to have the Dragonborn go into a dwarven ruin to retrieve an artifact for the thieves guild. She will be there with Mjoll, you will get there first. Prove yourself as capable and confident as she is."

"I am what she likes?"

"You may speak normally," Maven sighed.

"How much resistance will I encounter in the ruin?" Faranirr asked.

"None. I've sent fifty mercenaries in there already to clear it for you. They're all dead now, so try to get this right the first time you do it," Maven said as she sipped her drink.

"You sent fifty men to their deaths?!"

"Mercenaries. There were women in that group as well."

"You aren't coming with me?" Faranirr asked.

"Of course not. I am far too important to risk bodily harm over something as silly as your little crush on the Dragonborn."

"It is not a crush! I am simply trying to avoid having her become involved with that-"

"Yes, yes, I know. Now, when you see her and you have the artifact in hand, you're to say as little as possible, and what you say should be nonchalant. Do not stutter, do not trip over your words, and if you cannot think of anything to say that is free of those two conditions, say nothing at all when you give her the artifact."


	10. Chapter 10

Faranirr walked through the dwarven ruins alone. It'd been some time since he'd had to do so, and it irritated him to no end that he was wandering the creepy ruins without the Dragonborn. In fact, she was wandering the very same ruins with Mjoll. She hadn't even waited a day to replace him! He grumbled about it as he hopped over a raised trap plate. He knew from experience what to look for in a place like this, and the trap plates were obvious once the Dragonborn had pointed them out, telling him precisely how to find them. He wondered if she was extending the same courtesy to Mjoll.

He eventually found himself in the cavernous room that the artifact was in. The artifact itself was a spoon made out of Dwarven steel. Faranirr sighed, it did seem very in line with Maven's mindset to send a warrior into old ruins for the sole purpose of retrieving a spoon. He waited for several hours with no sign of the Dragonborn or Mjoll. Eventually, he took the artifact with a sigh and used the shortcut back to the main entrance of the ruins to leave. He stopped when he saw that Mjoll was in the doorway with a very irritated sounding Dragonborn crossing her arms in front of her.

"For the last time, Mjoll, _move,_ " She growled.

"What can I do for you, friend?" Mjoll asked.

With a growl of irritation, the Dragonborn took out her sword and stabbed Mjoll straight through the chest. Mjoll gave a groan of pain, and then didn't move at all. The Dragonborn kicked her corpse off of her blade and walked into the ruins, grumbling about doorways. She stopped when she saw Faranirr holding the artifact and said, "Faranirr. You're here."

Faranirr was mute with shock. He held up the artifact to her, careful to keep his mouth shut and not say a word. The Dragonborn took the spoon and said, "Thanks." She walked out of the ruin and left Faranirr, staring at Mjoll's body. He walked back to Riften in the same daze, the scene replaying over and over in his head. He'd watched the Dragonborn kill people for looking at her wrong, but he'd never watched her do it to someone she might've had an attachment to. It made him wonder, would she do it to him? If he messed up one day and ended up standing in front of a doorway that she happened to want to walk through, would she murder him as well?

He sat down at the bar table with Maven, who asked, "How did it go?"

"She stabbed Mjoll," Faranirr said dully.

"Perfect. Now you're free of any competition and I get my end of the deal. I would say it's been a pleasure doing business with you, but even I am not capable of lying that well."

With that, Maven got up and left Faranirr to go see the Jarl, probably to talk about some other illicit business dealing. Faranirr stared at the filthy table for a solid hour as he wondered, would the Dragonborn kill him with the same merciless regard? With the same lack of warning? At least it would be quick. He stood up and went to the Dragonborn's house. He wanted answers. He kicked open the front door to see the Dragonborn sitting by the fire, some kind of soup being prepared, with reading glasses perched on the bridge of her helmet as she stared at a bright purple book bearing the symbol of a Daedra.

She glanced at him and said, "There is a handle for a reason."

"Do not try to be cute with me after I witnessed you murder an innocent woman!" Faranirr said.

The Dragonborn marked her page with a dog ear- like a barbarian- and put the book down. She crossed her legs and asked, "What is the problem Faranirr? You never seem this tense when I kill other people."

"That is different! 'Other people' are bandits and thieves and ancient dragon priests!"

"Did you like Mjoll?" The Dragonborn asked.

"Divines, no! I'm glad she's dead!" Faranirr hissed.

"Then what is the problem?"

"You killed her!"  
"Faranirr, I'm confused. Did you want to kill her?"

"No! Maybe! If she had attacked first!"

"So what is the issue?"

"You killed her for standing in your way! Nothing else!"

"Faranirr, you've watched me kill for less. And I waited several hours before doing it."

"That is not the point! If you were able to kill Mjoll with such ease, what is stopping you from killing me?!"

"Nothing," The Dragonborn said simply. Faranirr let his hands fall to his sides as he stared at the Dragonborn with his mouth wide open. She put a pinch of Void Salts into the cauldron before turning to Faranirr to add, "But I wouldn't kill you, Faranirr."

"That is only vaguely reassuring," Faranirr muttered as he collapsed into a chair with exhaustion.

"You don't understand, Faranirr, I wouldn't kill you because I like you," She said as she crouched in front of Faranirr to be close to eye level with him.

"And what if you stop 'liking me'?" Faranirr huffed.

The Dragonborn took a breath to say something when the cauldron that had previously been glowing an eerie green turned bright purple as orange smoke began to bubble over the edges. It shook violently, as if it were possessed. Or as though the Dragonborn had cooked in it, really, it could've gone either way. "Divines, damn it, move!" She ordered Faranirr. They got up and dived out of the house- the windows shattering with blasts of force that felt ancient. The beams of light that bled out of it were colored a mix of purples and oranges.

"What did you do?!" Faranirr asked.

"I may have accidentally freed Sheogorath in the process of trying to make a soup."

"How did you even manage that?!"

"Well, a merchant sold me a book that he said was written by the Gourmet that would enhance the taste. I see now I should have killed him. But he's long gone," She thought it over and said, "So I'll just kill the Gourmet."

"How about no killing?!"

"Faranirr, killing something solves most of your problems right away."

"Dragonborn, how about we try getting rid of the Mad God you've managed to unleash, and then talk about this Gourmet business?"

"Sounds perfect," The Dragonborn said as she drew her blades. There was a peal of demented laughter from the house as the door slammed open. Somehow, Faranirr wouldn't have had it any other way.


End file.
